


As Scars Give Way to Galaxies

by theartofbeinganerd



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Like A Hella Lot of It, Mentions of Past Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10031237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartofbeinganerd/pseuds/theartofbeinganerd
Summary: When Jemma experiences self-consciousness about the scars left over from her torture for the first time in years, Fitz is there with a solution to make sure she never sees herself as anything less than perfect.*Future Fic





	

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever stop using fic to explore Jemma's trauma? Never.
> 
> This is just a short little thing I've been thinking about for awhile, and I finally decided to write it down the other day, so...here it is. It's set some amount of time in the future, and doesn't reference anything happening in current canon (because here that's all behind them and they're happy for more than two seconds at a time, okay?).
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Jemma Fitzsimmons had been many things throughout her life, but self-conscious about her body was never one of them – she’d always known that she was objectively attractive and pleasing to the eye (and since beginning their relationship, Fitz had done _wonders_ for her already healthy self-esteem), and as she stared hard at the reflection the full-length mirror was giving her, she wasn’t exactly _self-conscious_ , but…well, she wasn’t exactly feeling great, either.

And it didn’t even have anything to do with the healthy swell of her stomach.

Well, it _did_ have to do with her growing baby bump, but it wasn’t because she thought she looked overweight or something, like one might be inclined to think.

“I thought it was _my_ job to wile hours away gazing at your beauty.”

At the sound of Fitz’s teasing voice, Jemma lifted her eyes in the mirror, finding his as she let out a defeated sigh. “Even when our life is finally _normal_ , it still never is, is it?”

She watched as his brow furrowed in concern, his lips pulling down at the corners. He entered their bedroom fully then, crossing the room to gently turn her to face him. “What’re you talking about, Jem?”

Jemma half-turned back to the mirror, making a face as she gestured to her reflection, where her bunched up shirt bared her jutting stomach, along with the long-healed but still vividly visible scars that covered almost every inch of the skin of her lower torso; with it pulled taut to accommodate their unborn daughter, it only threw the scars into sharper relief. “As if it isn’t obvious. All the other mothers I come across, they always have an entire album’s worth of pregnancy photos, showing off their growing stomachs, but I…I’m stuck with _this_. No one wants to see _that_.”

Usually, the scars didn’t bother her, and she could forget that they even existed. Of course, she’d had to give up bikinis (not that she’d had much time to go anywhere she’d _need_ one since long before her torture at HYDRA’s hand), but that had been such a small concession, and though she’d briefly given into nerves about them around the time she and Fitz finally got together, he’d been quick to ease her worries. Yes, it had always been obvious that they bothered him, but she knew it had nothing to do with how they looked and everything to do with how she’d received them.

But, ever since she’d gotten pregnant, her stomach had become a frequent topic of discussion, ultrasound techs who tried to hide their surprise and horror and burning questions, fellow mothers-to-be and new mothers sharing their pregnancy photos and asking after hers – she was running out of excuses as to why she refused to allow anyone but Fitz and her doctor to see it.

It was truly such a silly thing to worry so much about after everything they’d been through in their lives, but Jemma just couldn’t seem to help it, something that only served to frustrate her more.

“ _Jemma_ ,” Fitz sighed, gently tugging her into his arms, so that her back was pressed to his chest as they stood in front of the mirror, his hands sliding along her exposed skin to rest on her stomach. “You don’t need to be ashamed of them; you _never_ need to be ashamed of something that proves just how strong you are. You’ve always said that they’re a part of who you are now – why does that have to change? ‘Sides, I think our baby girl would _love_ to look back someday at pictures of you all glowing and pregnant with her, looking strong as hell with the scars on display. Makes you look like some kind of warrior women, to be honest.” As he was speaking, he absently traced his fingertips over her rounded abdomen in loose little zigzag patterns, following the scars that he knew by heart.

“Of course you’d say all that; you’re always singing my praises,” Jemma shot back half-heartedly, letting out another sigh and leaning more heavily against Fitz.

“Like you’d have it any other way,” Fitz scoffed in reply, bowing his head to press a tender kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Tell you what, give me an uninterrupted hour with your beautiful little baby belly, and if you’re not feeling better about the scars by the end of it, I’ll…dunno, cook you dinner and give you a footrub or something.”

“You should do those things anyway – I’m carrying your child.” Jemma had to admit, she was intrigued, but didn’t allow herself to get her hopes up; she couldn’t imagine ever feeling any less self-conscious about it.

Fitz groaned, rolling his eyes at her. “Fine, you get to pick what I do – but the point’s really moot, because I’m confident you’ll love it.”

Jemma’s eyebrows rose, and a little grin played around her lips as she turned in his arms, holding out her hand to shake. “Alright, you’re on, Dr. Fitzsimmons.”

A beaming grin tugged at his lips as he playfully shook her hand. “Well, Dr. Fitzsimmons, prepare to be proven wrong.”

Narrowing her eyes, Jemma pointed sternly at Fitz. “ _Don’t_.” In response, he held up his hands in surrender, cocky grin still in place, and Jemma let it go with a fond roll of her eyes.

-

Fitz claimed he needed time to ‘get things together’, so Jemma passed the time flicking through the channels on the television in their bedroom – well, that had been her _plan_ , but in reality after just fifteen minutes, she ended up falling asleep on top of their comforter with her head tucked against Fitz’s pillow.

She wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed before she woke up to Fitz gently shaking her shoulder, murmuring apologies against the top of her head. “You can go back to sleep,” he promised softly, “but I just wanted to let you know I was startin’, in case you woke up before I finished.”

“ _Mhmmm_ ,” Jemma hummed out, still half-asleep. Within moments, she’d drifted back off.

The next time she faded back into consciousness, it was to the oddest sensation on the bare skin of her stomach, the feather-light touch of something foreign all-but tickling her skin. Automatically, she blinked her eyes open, and found Fitz kneeling on the mattress beside her, face set in determined concentration and his tongue poking out between his lips. He kept glancing from her midsection, down to something on the mattress, and back, and Jemma was ridiculously curious as to what he was doing.

“Almost finished?” she asked, her voice still low and a bit hoarse from her brief nap.

Fitz blinked, finally lifting his gaze from her stomach to meet her eyes. “Oh. Yeah, almost. Took me a bit longer ‘cause I had to wait for the other side to dry and…” He made a face, wincing awkwardly, and said nervously, “I…ah…hope you don’t mind that I rolled you over to get to this side.”

Jemma let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head as she assured him, “Oh don’t worry, I was in such a dead sleep I wouldn’t have noticed if you put me on a flight to Antarctica.”

“Well lucky for you, that wasn’t my plan for the evening. Now stay still, I’ve just got a bit more to do.” With that, he got back to work, though after a moment he told her with a chuckle, “She already likes it, y’know. Keeps kicking like mad in there.”

Now that she was awake, Jemma was very much aware of their daughter happily wiling away the day kicking at her mother from the inside. “Yes, I can see that. It’s because I’m not up and about to rock her to sleep with the constant movement. Or, if you’ve been talking, you know she likes the sound of your voice.”

Jemma’s heart swelled in her chest as she watched an awed little grin spreading across his face at the reminder that their unborn daughter recognized and liked to hear his voice. “Yeah, I mean, I guess I’ve been mumbling to myself – you know I don’t realize I do it half the time when I’m focused.”

“Mm,” Jemma hummed in agreement. It was something she loved about him; he’d been doing it since the Academy (and likely before that), and the familiarity was comforting when everything else seemed to be changing – and it was also just damn adorable.

Finally, with another few strokes of ticklish attention across her skin, Fitz finally declared, “Alright, finished!” He quickly reached out to what had been on the mattress in front of him, and Jemma heard the distinct sound of a tablet locking. He scooted off the bed, then held out a hand to help her carefully climb off as well. “Close your eyes ‘til I say.”

“We’ll have to make this quick – she’s decided it’s time to use Mum’s bladder as a trampoline,” Jemma informed Fitz with a wince, wordlessly complying with his request as he led her back over to the mirror in the corner of their bedroom.

“Won’t take long,” Fitz assured her, dropping her hand to place both of his on her shoulders, gently guiding her until she was standing right before it. He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze, then he said, “Okay, you can look.”

Taking a breath, Jemma reopened her eyes, dropping them until her gaze rested on the reflection of her abdomen in the mirror. The breath got caught in her throat as she gasped softly, her hand rising to absently flutter over the masterpiece she was too afraid to touch. With black paint, Fitz had transformed her patchwork of scars into a map of the night sky, using each scar as a different constellation made up of painstakingly accurate little black stars.

While she was still entranced by the sight of her scars actually being something beautiful for the very first time, Fitz loosely wrapped his arms around her, cupping his hands beneath her stomach. “See, now everyone else can see that I’m holdin’ my whole universe in my arms.”

Promptly and abruptly, Jemma burst into tears. It was, far and above, the most _beautiful_ thing he’d ever said or done, and Fitz was just about as romantic as they came. She still couldn’t believe that this wonderful, thoughtful, achingly kind, loving, _incredible_ man was hers, even after all the years and all the different ways that he’d demonstrated his dedication to her and his love for her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Fitz babbled out apologetically, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and hugging her to him as he pressed comforting kisses to her temple, her cheek, her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Jem. I’m sorry.”

“Oh _Fitz_ , I’m _pregnant_ ,” Jemma managed to get out between gasping little sobs, “Spilt milk could make me cry right about now.” Fitz paused in his consoling attentions, leaning back to try and catch her eye, and Jemma sniffled back her tears, reaching up to cup his face as she told him firmly, “Fitz, you have _no_ idea how happy this makes me. I’m quite sure this is one of the sweetest things you’ve ever done, and…and every time I’m sure I can’t possibly fit anymore love for you inside of me without bursting, you go and do something like this and…” Unable to find the words to tell him just how much it meant to her, Jemma trailed off and shook her head, instead tugging him down to plant a kiss on his lips that would hopefully convey what her words could not.

When they parted a long moment later, both breathing with a bit more difficulty, Fitz grinned a lopsided, adorably goofy grin as he asked, “So you like it then?”

Turning to face him, Jemma framed Fitz’s face in both of her hands and stared directly into his eyes as she told him, “Fitz, I _love_ it; I love _you_. Thank you. _Thank you_.”

Fitz flushed, looking quite pleased with himself even as he shrugged off her adamant praise. “Yeah, well, I can’t have my wife going around thinking she’s anything less than perfect, can I? What kinda husband would I be?”

“We’ll never know, because you’re absolutely the most _perfect_ husband,” Jemma told him firmly, leaning in to give him another kiss before she folded herself into his embrace (careful not to smudge any of the paint that might not have dried yet), tucking her head between his neck and shoulder.

They stayed there like that for a long moment, holding each other in silence, absently swaying back and forth, before Fitz broke the comfortable quiet to whisper, “Jemma?”

“Hmm?”

“Didn’t you need to pee?”

“ _Ugh, Fitz_!”

Well, perhaps ‘the most _perfect_ husband’ wasn’t quite right – after all, no one could ruin a moment quite like Fitz.

But, he was still wonderfully and delightfully _her_ Fitz, the one who painted stars over her scars to ease her discomfort and considered her and their daughter his whole universe, so Jemma figured that she could give him a pass, just this once.


End file.
